


My Boys

by milady_om



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captivity, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fucked Up, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milady_om/pseuds/milady_om
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are held captive by a special kind of monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Boys

I need my boys.

Trapped in a cushy prison, living at and for my pleasure alone.

Hunters – who fucked up the divine order without much qualm – tamed and domesticated. It is a satisfying feeling. 

Dean is my favorite. And if he only knew what he does to me and my insides… He could have the whole world, including myself, under his feet. But he is too straightforward for such games. Too honest. Too proud. And so he will suck my cock because of a sense of duty – to uphold his end of the bargain to keep Sammy safe. 

Nothing more. 

Dean runs his potty mouth and glares death threats. It only makes it so much better, so much sweeter when I manage to fuck him into oblivion, when he forgets and strangles out a moan, when wrinkles around his eyes straighten out and his eyes beam in utter bliss. But that lasts only a second, a fleeting moment, and Dean remembers. 

Too bad John Fucking Winchester is dead.

He will push me away, bolt out of bed, stand there cold, distant, and unapproachable. If I try to reach for him, he will break my arm. 

“I have done my part. Now, get out.”

And I will go. Aching for so much more. I know Dean aches too. I see the longing in his eyes. The deep deep sadness when he sees things he thinks he cannot have. That same stubbornness that moved heaven and hell and everything in between for Sammy will not allow him to admit that he needs this just as much as I do. If only he would allow himself to be happy…

Too bad John Fucking Winchester is dead.

And so I go, aching, itching, so deeply unsatisfied. I go to Sam, my little eager cockslut. He meows and purrs and begs so nicely. It is a sight to behold. It was not all that hard – a few doses of drugs and Sam is so happy and so eager to please. 

Sam nuzzles into my neck and I pretend it’s Dean. But it is not. It is the next best thing. As close to the original as I can get. It is not Dean, but I close my eyes and whisper “Winchester” as I pump without a shed of mercy. Ass lifted up at an angle for easier access, legs wrapped tightly around my torso, lips moaning in mindless bliss. 

Saliva pooling around a gag ball. Because the whispers would be from a wrong voice.

I hold Sam for as long as the illusion lasts. When it breaks, I shove him off the bed. I feel dirty and disgusting. Sam yelps like a hurt puppy. I ignore him because I would tear him to pieces.

I dress, I leave, I go to Castiel. I am angry. The kind of angry that brings storms and utter destruction. The kind of angry that does not know reason or limits. 

And Castiel bears it with self-righteous pride. He bleeds, he screams, he sobs. He is a fucking mess. He does not beg. Not that it would make a difference. The only way to sate the storm is to let it pass. 

Every time I think that this is the time I have gone too far, that I pushed beyond the point of return.

Eventually, the storm passes and calmness comes. I look at Castiel. A trembling sobbing mess that does not even have the strength to crawl into the furthest corner. An innocent victim of my anger. And I want to go to him, caress his face, softly kiss his forehead, and tell him, “Thank you.”

But I do not feel it is appropriate. It is better if I keep it simple, if Castiel’s world is simple black and white.

There is another angel, Beata, who patches Castiel up, comforts him, makes him ready for the next time. And Castiel endures. I respect him for that. But it is not going to matter the next time the storm comes. And there is going to the next time, and the next, and the next…

And so the cycle goes. Round and round. And it is strange. I can do a lot of things – move continents and explode the sun if I so desired. And yet. And yet, I cannot make Dean mine. And so it goes, round and round.

Another day. Another time Dean pushes me away. But Sam greets me with a tight hug and a deep kiss. He makes me tea. He crawls in between my legs. He is so hungry and so fucking good. I close my eyes and imagine Dean’s pink lips stretched…

A cold tip of the blade under my chin.

The fantasy is gone. Replaced by Sam, standing tall and straight.

“Take me to my brother.”

The Angel Sword – where did Sam get it? – won’t do shit to me. I could easily overpower Sam. But Sam looks good like that. A proud Hunter. With a spark like his brother’s. I was not expecting that, from Dean or Castiel – sure, but not from my little eager cockslut. It looks like I have underestimated Sam and it is a novel feeling.

“I said take me to my brother.”

The blade pushes deeper into my chin. 

Sam fidgets. It betrays how nervous and afraid he is. Out of practice, I guess.

It would be really easy to throw him into a wall. But then the storm would come. Castiel is not here to bear it. The storm would tear Sam apart. Sam is just a human and he won’t survive. 

I need my boys. 

And, besides, Sam looks beautiful like that. With a spark like his brother’s.

And so I bring Sam to Dean and Castiel.

They run. I do not chase.

When Dean learns what I have done to his Sammy and Cas, he swears to kill me.

I have no doubt he will.


End file.
